What's Past is Past
by Aly Teima
Summary: A sad story, about what happens to the Rangers when one of their own is gone. Mainly a story about the enduring power of friendship and love. Not for the fainthearted, however
1. Chapter 1

What's Past is Past 

A/N; I do not own Rescue Rangers, Disney does. I'm not making any money from this, it's been in my head, in different forms, since I first saw the show in 1989, so, for a long time. I read "Rhyme and Reason", that wonderful fic and was inspired, then I was inspired again by Matt Plotcher's picture, you'd have to see it to know which one I was talking about, "Friendship Never Dies." What a beautiful pic, lots of play with shadow, black and white. Bravo, Matt, you inspired me. Read and reply if you like, but just remember, like a twelve-step program, I'm just following through on something I've needed to do for some time.

Dusk, the magic hour. Pale sunlight filtered through mahogany-colored fabric, blocking out any harsh light and filling the room with an amber glow.

It was silent elsewhere in the tree house, all the curtains drawn.

Chip Maplewood stood on the domino doorway and looked inside what had been his home for years. He stepped inside a memory and everything fell into place once again.

He'd stayed here for a short time after the events of what he was about to relive. But not for long, it was too painful and extra memories wouldn't fill the hollow place inside of him.

He wondered now, looking down at his aged body, why he tortured himself yearly, reliving this.

For although the evening twilight was peaceful and outside sounds muted, it was the worst night of his life.

Shadows lengthened across the floor as Chip crossed it. Strange how the hall always seemed to lengthen when he returned here, so much longer in his mind than in reality.

Then, out of the corner of his mind's eye he saw a flash of gold, Gadget's hair.

The mouse stepped out of a room at the far end of the hall, Chip's destination. He caught his breath, stunned as always at how lovely she was, even now, with dried tear streaks on her cheeks, hair bedraggled and paws shaking as she carried a tray out.

As she walked past him, Chip caught that ghost of a scent; her own unique aroma behind the medicinal smells clouding his memory. His gut tightened, just when he thought he couldn't be tenser.

He'd loved her, but afterwards, he'd lost something integral inside. They'd drifted apart.

He still loved her probably but now it was a sad regret. He saw her sometimes; now, she was still beautiful, still wonderfully intelligent. But the chasm between them was too far to bridge, all because…

Chip shook his head, refocusing.

A smell of cheese and a low buzzing met his senses, here in the recesses of his mind. Monterey Jack sat hunched in the corner by the door, wiping away shameful tears with a grubby cloth.

Zipper, his own best friend, was on his shoulder. They stayed close, not saying anything, sad but perhaps grateful neither was still in that room.

Chip felt the memory of his rage hit him then, but it no longer had any power. It was over, that particular fight, Chip's unfairness and Monty's temper. Like Gadget, he still saw Monty and Zipper but less frequently. Their friendship had cooled, though still, technically, intact. Again, it wasn't the same.

He was here, now, at the door. A strong smell of medicine, herbs…and sickness hit him, or was it just forever embedded in his mind? He would hate those smells until the end of his days but at least they longer caused the flashbacks they had in those hellish months after.

He pushed the door open, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, even though he'd relived this moment, this scene so many times before. It, like other things, would be with him forever.

When he thought he was ready, though he never really was, he opened his eyes to look in on the scene that shattered his life.

Chip winced as he heard that deep rasp, the cough, a low, gurgling sound that resembled someone slowly drowning, an accurate sound.

Chip looked at his younger self, feeling an odd sense of pity. This Chip, younger but aged with the events of a few terrible days, still had hope, still somehow believed that everything would turn out all right.

He thought his best friend would live to see another morning. The older Chip felt the pain hit him full force, wondering if it would ever loosen its hold on him.

He observed his younger self more closely. Younger Chip's face was tight with worry, his paws were shaking. He kept fidgeting, unsure of what to do with himself. One minute he was twisting his fedora, the next clenching the side of the bed he was sitting next to.

Finally, with a deep, shuddering sigh, he grasped his best friend's paw in his own, gripping it. Chip knew that his younger self wouldn't relinquish it, not even far into the next morning when it was a worthless gesture.

_Not that it isn't now_, Chip though bitterly. His younger self had an expression of confusion, hurt and fear on his face.

Things had escalated so quickly. Chip knew, as he'd been there, his younger self was wondering how things had come to this.

A rattled gasp from the bed caused both Chips to wince and Chip watched his memory self grasp a glass of water frantically, waiting to help his friend any way he could.

Dale Oakmont, Chip's best friend for longer than both could remember, lay on the bottom bed of the bunk set they'd shared for years.

He looked truly awful, so pale it made his fur appear gray, his normally red nose severely swollen to an ugly, purple color.

His hair was slick with sweat and with every breath he took he arched his back, desperate for air. He'd been delirious all day, his illness very dangerous.

The doctor the Rangers had summoned warned them of infection but they had ignored him, terrified for Dale. The doctor, a large field rat with sad, bulbous eyes had not minced words, though he hated seeing reactions to what he so often had to say. They'd wanted to move Dale to a hospital of some kind, but he'd told them it would do no good, better to let him stay here, in familiar, comforting surroundings, then in a frightening, ascetic place like that.

Dale was too weak, he'd been exposed, breathing in frigid air for too long. Chip remembered why and now the fury hit him as if it had been yesterday. He'd gotten his vengeance a long time ago, but, as Gadget had warned him, it changed nothing, not his anger or Dale's future, nothing.

Six days earlier Dale went out for an errand, so mundane no one remembered what it was. He hadn't come back.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

What's Past is Past

Chip remembered as though he was there once again, how he'd felt during that time Dale was missing. He and Dale, always prone to squabbling, were getting along uncommonly well and had been for weeks. It was a good thing, him distracted with Foxglove but their friendship strengthened by Dale's renewed interest in cases, Chip's hard won patience, seemed stronger than ever.

But, that morning, Chip had been sleep-deprived and irritated at his best friend. He wondered what Dale had done to give him those formless nightmares he'd had all night. A feeling of unease had plagued Chip all morning, then irritation.

One of Dale's stupid practical jokes, probably, he'd done it before, making noises to disturb Chip's sleep. Really, how immature could that 'munk get?

Later, Chip missed those jokes terribly, that innocent silliness so characteristic of his friend. Without it, life became colorless.

Chip snapped at Dale when the other left but Dale just shrugged in that good-natured way of his. No words, no goodbyes, only a stupid, short remark that Chip couldn't recall, though he remembered and tortured himself with it for days afterward, and there were awful days to come.

Hours past, the sun went down, still more time crept by. The Rangers began searching for their missing member but it seemed that Dale had vanished without a trace.

Chip became frantic, the other Rangers only slightly more calm. The weather turned ugly, rainy and cold. Chip searched even after they were told to wait by everyone they could think to ask. They were told that Dale would turn up, or whatever was happening would reveal it, whether it was a villain holding him hostage, or something similar.

Chip ignored this advice, however. He searched day and night, sometimes the other Rangers accompanied him, sometimes not. They went directly to every villain they thought might have Dale, though no ransom note was delivered, no threats.

Somehow, this fact frightened Chip the most. He had to know his friend's disappearance wasn't some random, senseless thing. He wanted the chance to find Dale, he wanted the reassurance that when something happened to Dale in the past, things always turned out all right, though there had been some close calls.

But nothing, not even from Fat Cat. Or so they thought. The massive cat, it appeared, hadn't been plotting, scheming or thieving lately. Completely out of character for him. He was just quiet, there in his factory.

Hindsight allowed Chip to see that he never had his henchmen around him, something rare for Fat Cat who usually liked to gloat over or torment those smaller and stupider than him. He found out why, too late though.

Chip wondered, too, how he could have been so stupid. He screamed and riled at himself, helpless at what he couldn't change. Yet, none of them, not even him, though Fat Cat could be so cruel.

Four days and finally, Chip guessed, that Fat Cat couldn't contain his gloating any more. After all, by that time the cat thought it was all over.

What the Rangers didn't know was they'd been trailed in their searches for Dale, that the villain had taken advantage of their distracted state. He'd enjoyed their fear, it was his best revenge, pointless, evil and cruel.

The anger and hate curdled Chip's stomach, another thing that would never leave him. He couldn't let it go, not after what the cat did.

At midnight, possibly for his own sick dramatics, Fat Cat had sent their tail to make contact. He had never sent anyone directly to their tree house before, and the Rangers were unprepared for any intruders. Yet, the contact wasn't exactly dangerous. Mole.

Too stupid to understand what was really going on, only acting on his boss' instructions, he produced the bait. Dale's shirt, ripped and bloody.

The horrible feeling that went through Chip was indescribable, as he looked at it. Monty was barely restraining himself and Gadget had collapsed into a chair, shaking badly, Zipper buzzing over her.

But Chip just stood there, staring at the remnant of his friend and trying to tell himself that his worst fears were wrong.

"Uh, um yeah, uh, Fat Cat, he tol' me that he's, uh, he's had, your um, disgustin' rodent, uh friend, yeah that's it." The malicious words sounded strange with Mole's flat nasal voice.

He scratched his head, trying to recall the rest of the message. "He, he uh says it, uh, don't matter, Fat Cat, does, the uh, friend?" Mole shook Dale's shirt and Chip felt his stomach bottom out. "Yeah, uh, the friend, he's dead."

At the time, Chip wondered why things seemed so quiet, especially with the utter chaos surrounding him, Monty throttling Mole and Gadget sobbing terribly.

He was frozen, but the scream of agony in his head echoed on and on. Before he realized what he was doing, he bolted out the door, running, away from Gadget crying out his name, away from those terrible lying words still hanging in the air.

He didn't know how he got anywhere in that state or what he thought he was doing but, suddenly, he was at Fat Cat's headquarters.

Shockingly, Fat Cat's henchmen simply let him pass, acting Chip now knew, on their boss' orders. He didn't care then or now.

He walked into Fat Cat's office and though the massive cat stared him down coldly, he didn't flinch or back away. There was silence for a time, then Fat Cat drawled out in a bored, arrogant voice, "Can I help you with something, vermin?"

Chip felt a rush of hatred so strong he couldn't see, couldn't focus. It might have shown on his fact because even Fat Cat took a step back, unnerved.

The cat didn't understand concepts like love, loyalty and friendship, not like Chip did. He didn't recognize it except in his own, twisted way.

"Where is he?" Chip didn't recognize his own voice. Fat Cat didn't answer right away but, finally, with a toothy, grotesque smile he said, "In cold storage."

"Why?" Chip gasped out, that one word not even coming close to the onslaught of emotions that hit him. "Why!" He said again, screaming the word now.

Again, Fat Cat took his time, a manic gleam growing in his slit eyes. "Revenge, rodent. You see, all of my brilliant plans in ruins, humiliation, devastation, everything I have had to endure, I have done so at your miserable little group's doing." Fat Cat was snarling, spitting with hate.

"Trying to destroy all of you at once always seems to backfire and trying to use one against the other, well, never quite has the ending I wish, with at least one ridiculous Ranger dead and gone, so, I came up with my most brilliant plan yet."

"I picked one of you, and not just any one, no, I made my choice well. One who was vulnerable, whom my henchmen recognized easily, whom would unravel your little group's dynamic so easily, quite brilliant, yes, if I do say so myself. Yet, I needed one more essential ingredient that, I'll admit, I did not possess before. I did not see its virtues in my long-term plans. But I do now, and it made all of the difference."

Fat Cat leaned over Chip, fangs gleaming and the chipmunk was shaking with rage and pain. "Patience, Ranger. Patience makes all of the difference."

Fat Cat clapped his paws together in glee before standing up, his face dead pan again. "Follow."

Chip had no choice but to do so. He followed Fat Cat through the cat food factory, now very familiar to him, free of henchmen escort surprisingly enough.

He went through a passage way usually blocked off and there, in the back of that building that Chip though he knew every nook and cranny off, Fat Cat stopped.

He stopped in front of a heavy, steel door, with the handle coming to just above the chipmunk's head. Chip felt bile rise up in his throat as he recognized what this was.

"He's quite the resilient fellow, " Fat Cat said conversationally, "I expected him to go after a much shorter time, he doesn't seem the type to last longer than a day or so. Still, surprises, surprises, and I'm quite grateful, it made it so much more fun, instead of everything ending all at once. He proved so difficult at one point that my underlings helped speed up the process."

Fat Cat flashed his claws and before Chip could react, he grabbed the chipmunk, holding him up to an iced, foggy window at the cat's eye-level.

What Chip saw nearly made him vomit. An iced lump of brown fur lay huddled close to the door, unmoving.

Dried, frozen blood streaked through the fur. Dale was unrecognizable, curled up so tightly in a ball. Chip knew he'd done it in a last attempt to stay warm.

"We brought him out when he started to fade, putting him back over and over. It was more fun to stretch it out, make the rodent suffer. Near the end, he kept clawing at the door, moaning for another one of your pitiful group to help him. Chip, that was one name I heard, mainly. I assume that's you?"

Chip was turned to face the cat, who was smiling a cold, evil grin. Of course the villain knew Chip, he'd planned it this way, as the cat said, he knew just how to hurt them the worst, going for someone unexpected, yet vulnerable just the same.

He had hurt, _killed_, _NO!_ Chip wouldn't accept that. He looked at Fat Cat's evil face and a lifetime of memories flashed in his mind, nearly all of them had Dale, Chip's friend his entire life, and now…

Chip lost all control. He chomped down on Fat Cat's paw as hard as he could, tasting blood, breaking bone. Fat Cat screamed in pain but Chip knew it was nothing compared to how the cat would feel if Dale…but no, Chip couldn't think on that just yet.

He leaped up, surprising himself with his own adrenaline, and pulled hard on the door handle, heaving with all the strength he had.

The door eased open and a frigid wind hit him just as a sharp pain lanced through his back.

Fat Cat, his face livid, had swiped at him with razor-sharp claws, catching his back, though Chip was well protected by his leather bomber. The cat's paw, Chip saw with satisfaction, was bloody and black and blue, looking exceptionally painful.

Chip lithely ducked as Fat Cat swiped at him again, before sinking his teeth into Fat Cat's hind paw. Another scream of pain but Chip ignored it, focused on one task.

He pushed through the open door and grabbed the frozen, beaten body of his oldest and best friend. Chip's mind was screaming at him in horror, taking in Dale's appearance. He ignored it, he had to.

Dale was frighteningly light, not at all like his slightly tubby, food-loving friend. He remained completely still.

Chip, not realizing anything but getting his friend to safety, ran as though hell itself was at his heels. He ran and ran, and kept running when the rain started again. He had to get somewhere, anywhere safe.

He reached the edge of the park where the Rangers lived in an amazing amount of time, unpursued by anything. Yet, the icy stillness had not left Dale. He didn't make a sound or move a muscle.

Chip felt frozen himself, knowing what he still had to do. He brushed Dale's front hair back, feeling his forehead. Chip's paw was shaking like mad, Dale felt like ice and remained curled in that tiny ball.

Chip summoned up his courage and knelt down to see the rise and fall of Dale's chest, it anything was still left to see. For a long, long time, while Chip held his own breath, there was nothing. Then, Chip saw a tiny rise and fall, one shallow breath, followed by another, slightly deeper.

He jumped up, whooping in momentary joy. "Chip?" He whirled around to see Gadget, her face white and an out of breath Monty with an unconscious Mole flung over his shoulder.

Gadget's eyes strayed over to Dale's prone form. "Oh, my…no! Dale!" She rushed over and Chip felt a surge of relief. Gadget would know what to do, Dale would be all right now, and things would be okay.

But a small voice in Chip's head forced him to observe how still Dale was, his friend's erratic breathing and malnutrition.

"Chipper?" Chip didn't take his eyes off of Dale. "Chip, blimey mate, you, you look like seven shades, but you did it?" Chip nodded, feeling a lump in his throat, choking him.

"Knew you would." Monty said quietly. Gadget turned to look at Chip and her face was grave. Chip felt the strain and worry of the past few days gain up on him, seeing the hopelessness in those blue eyes. He felt tears slip down his cheeks.

But it was all right, Dale was finally safe and Fat Cat would pay.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

What's Past is Past

Except he wasn't safe, they found out. Dale's poor body couldn't hold up against the torture he'd been through.

He became very ill, very quickly. He never really regained consciousness, except for fleeting moments of recognition.

Sometimes he would flail around and cry out for help, calling each of them by name. Chip felt his heart being ripped out when Dale asked him to help, asking where he was, over and over.

Then, Dale got worse, his breathing too difficult a task for him. He started to fade, they were losing him.

The doctor had told them to prepare.

So here Chip sat, being observed by himself, remembering against his will. He could never forget.

The twilight made Dale's face gaunt, but his friend's eyes suddenly opened in a rare moment of lucidity.

"Chip?" he rasped.

"Yeah, yeah Dale, I'm here." Chip forced himself to keep his voice steady.

"You, you made it. Are you-" An awful, grating cough racked Dale's body and Chip frantically tried to get him to take a sip of water but Dale shook his head. "Are, are you guys okay? F-Fat Cat, he, he said he'd do, the same, same thing to, all, you. I was worried."

Chip's eyes filled with hot tears. This simple speech exhausted Dale and he fell back, thankfully still conscious.

"We're, we're fine. It's you we're worried about, knucklehead." Chip said the last fondly and a faint smile crossed Dale's face.

"Sh-Should've read, more Ka-Blamo man, I, I got pretty, bored in, in that p-place, tried, tried to rem, remember, stories, not, not worrying." Dale drifted off, his eyes closing.

"I'm sorry." Chip said softly, squeezing his friend's paw. To his surprise, Dale gently squeezed back.

"H-Hey, shure-shuck, you, you did okay. S'not your fault, Chip. It, It's not." Tears streaked down Chip's face, he couldn't hold them back any longer.

"What, what's this, about, then?" But Dale's eyes were over-bright, too. He suddenly arched his back, gasping for breath, his face contorted with pain.

"Hurts." He whispered, after he settled back down onto the pillow. Chip closed his eyes, shaking his head.

"Y'know, you, you're g-getting too, serious, Chip," Dale rasped, giving his friend a half-smile. Chip couldn't smile back. He always regretted that, later.

After a few moments in the semi-darkness, listening to Dale's fight to breath, his friend spoke again.

"I'm gonna, m-miss you, y'know, Chip? You're, you're my, brother, best, my b-best friend, and-" Dale gasped and coughed, his hands clutching at the bed sheets as he writhed in pain.

Chip didn't know how he was going to stand much more of this. How could he watch his best friend die right before his eyes without being able to help him? But if Dale could keep fighting and keep hanging on through everything, well, so could he.

"Best friend, yeah, you're mine too, Dale. Always was, always will be." Chip's voice cracked in pain. "You, you are, well, a brother to me. I love you, you know that right?" Sobs were hitching in Chip's chest, he couldn't bear this but, then, Dale gently squeezed his paw again.

"I know, it's, it's the s-same, same for me." Dale's breathing seem to ease. He sank down into the pillow.

Less than an hour later, he was gone.

Chip watched himself all night, watched himself fall apart when it was clear Dale was gone.

What a sorry, ill-timed goodbye that conversation seemed, it didn't begin to encompass everything Chip wanted to say. He hadn't been ready.

Watching himself lose all control and forcing himself to relive the moment when it took both Monty and Gadget to pry his paw away from Dale's was his retribution against himself. He'd had no regard for anything or anyone, his poise shattered completely.

He'd screamed and sobbed, then, it was like he'd frozen inside. Months went by and he let everything go, he hadn't even given condolences to Foxglove, lost in his own grief. He merely watched as she sobbed raggedly, the little bat's heart broken in pieces, when Gadget told her.

They buried him and everything blurred after that. Those months, years, after. Monty tried everything to rouse him, which resulted in their horrific fight and Monty and Zipper leaving.

The large mouse could have been incredibly hurtful in that argument, but he hadn't, he avoided the topic of Dale mostly, simply letting Chip's hateful barbs dig into him. All he'd said was that he missed Dale too, but Chip had to keep living regardless.

Chip vented his spleen on Monty for saying that, he hadn't wanted to hear it. Then, his friends were gone. Even Gadget, who'd stuck by him, becoming a ghost of herself with his disregard, finally confronted him.

Her pain-filled face was one of the few things that penetrated Chip's fog of self-pity. Yet, they both knew it was too late, the time for anything was over, without Dale.

Chip felt like starting anything now with Gadget was a hollow gesture, or worse, a betrayal of his friend. She left and he let her go. Just like Monty and Zipper. Just like Dale.

"Chip?" With a start, Chip returned to reality. He was standing in the cooling, night air, in front of a simple plaque attached to an oak tree.

It bore Dale's name, two dates and an inscription Chip had nothing to do with choosing.

'**His Vibrant Spirit Lives On, though We Face Years Without Him.**'

It was beautiful, probably Gadget's and Foxglove's collaboration. Later, when he could finally bear to come here, he'd approved of the message. Simple and accurate.

Dale would have scoffed at a long, sappy memorial, anyway. Wasn't his style.

Hot tears flooded Chip's eyes. He didn't turn around to greet the voice, even when soft footsteps stopped directly beside him.

Gadget, her long, blonde hair, now streaked with some gray, was pulled up haphazardly. Simple shirt and loose pants made up her outfit. Her face, more careworn and lined than in yesteryear, but with the same endearing, characteristic smudges. She was still breathtaking, Chip realized, as she stood beside him, not saying anything.

A few tears slid down her lovely face and she put a small bouquet of vivid red and yellow flowers, some concoction of her own made to be carried easily by a mouse, underneath the plaque. Next to them, she placed an acorn wrapped with a red ribbon. Red was Dale's favorite color. Suited him, vibrant and warm.

Chip watched her, suddenly realizing how stiff he was, standing here in the damp cold. He really was getting on in years.

He then noticed the acorn Gadget put down, seeing it more clearly. Inexplicably, he felt a jolt of white-hot rage.

"What's that?" He sneered, grinding his teeth. Gadget froze, well used to that tone.

She'd experienced Chip's volatile emotions for a long time after Dale wasn't there to mediate them.

"A gift." She said softly, gently touching Dale's plaque.

"Why?" Chip barked. "You think he's going to pop out of there and eat it? You, you're just wasting, well, your time, wasting your stupid…"

"Stop!" Gadget stood up, tears in her blue eyes. "Chip, haven't we moved past all of this? How long has it been?"

"You tell me." Chip said grumpily. She ignored her pangs of unease and plowed ahead. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Being angry won't bring him back."

That was the wrong thing to say. Chip's temper flared up out of the ashes of pain and regret inside of him.

"Oh, thanks Gadget for that eye-opening observation. You really are a genius, aren't you? I mean, here I've been laboring under all of these false delusions for so long, thanks for letting me into the loop." He stopped, suddenly ashamed.

He shouldn't be doing this, not here in front of Dale's grave. It was disrespectful to his friend and Chip couldn't abide that.

"Are you finished?" Gadget said quietly. Chip didn't react.

"Just who are you angry at, Chip? I've wondered for a long time, is it me?"

Chip shook his head, after a moment. "Yourself? Or is it Dale?" She whispered that last name, afraid of another explosion. But all of the fight had gone out of Chip.

Angry at Dale? Hadn't he already wasted so much time being angry at his best friend when Dale was alive? After his friend was gone, he'd hated himself for every quarrel, every unkind word, and no matter how small or inconsequential.

But, was he angry at Dale for getting sick? For what had happened to him? Or just for leaving that day, instead of staying in the treehouse where it was safe, setting all of these events into motion.

Was he furious at Dale for dying, for leaving him to try and go on without him?

Gadget saw the emotions play over Chip's features, those features she knew very well and had forgiven so much of. How could she not?

Even after losing her father, she wondered at the grief Chip felt when Dale was gone. She wondered how she'd been able to cope, living on her own before joining the Rangers, and Chip hadn't.

Those two friends' lives were so tightly wound up in each other, and had been for, well, since the beginning, when both were barely old enough to understand friendship. A lifetime was shared between them, friendship deeper than she or Monty really understood, she pitied Chip, she even envied him, sometimes, for having that kind of connection with someone. Most were never so lucky.

What a price there was to be paid for it, though, when things when badly, when one of two was gone. There was such a rift, then, pulling them apart and it was wrong. Horribly wrong, she still felt, and terribly unjust. She was humbled by Chip's pain and loss, even though it didn't ease her own.

"He lied to me."

"What?" Gadget gasped, shocked out of her silence.

"You heard me."

There was no more malice in his voice, just sadness. He looked old and tired, putting a paw on Dale's plaque.

"His last words, he lied."

"Chip, no, please?" All of Gadget's own painful memories came back, she couldn't go through this again but she couldn't leave him like this. Yet, it was so improbable that Chip could have said, or felt, what he'd just said.

"He, he said," Chip's voice broke, "he said it would be all right. It's gonna be all right, Chip." Chip did an eerily accurate impression of Dale and Gadget trembled.

"Chip, he…"

"He lied." Chip buried his face in his paws, a few sobs racking his body. "And it wasn't, it wasn't all right. I, I don't think it will be again, ever."

Chip's naked vulnerability shook Gadget to the core. She'd only seen it once before, and that was a nightmarish scene she never wanted to return to, the morning after Dale passed on.

All of his pain, fear and worry was usually hidden under a brave façade, or anger of some kind. Nothing like this.

"Dale wouldn't lie to you, Chip." Gadget said fiercely, "Not about that, and if he still believed it, after, after everything he'd been through." She had to stop there, that hurt too badly. It still defied belief, that anyone would actually want to torment light-hearted, goofy, sweet Dale. For all of his faults, and he had many, he never deserved what happened to him.

"I'm so sorry, Gadget." Chip said, one paw returning to Dale's plaque. "I know, it's, it's too late, but I never really got to, say it to him, either."

A spasm of misery crossed Chip's face.

"He knew, he knew you so well. And I know, too." She still loved him, after all, and she let herself remember that when she embraced him, breathing in that familiar, heart-rending scent.

She'd had some nice dreams, once, and she knew Chip had as well, but they all involved Dale being there. At their wedding, as Chip's best man, toasting some silly thing with Chip ready to bonk him.

As their child's godfather, babysitting, corrupting the kid with years of junk food, comic books, staying up with them, forcing them to watch those awful horror movies he'd loved. She'd wanted to be there when his own life with Foxglove grew, developed, knowing his life would be intertwined with Chip's, always.

What a waste.

Chip felt as she did, but more so, such an integral part of his life ripped away too suddenly.

"Gadget?" Chip said softly, after a moment in her embrace.

"Yes?"

"Um, how are you? I mean, we haven't, talked, for awhile, er, for a long while actually." Chip flushed, a good sign in Gadget's opinion.

"You look really good, you know. Years have been kind and all that." The years hadn't been so kind to him, carrying the burden he had, but he was still handsome and she felt that, something, she always had, looking at him.

"Thank you." She said simply, before grabbing his paw and squeezing it. "Come on, Chip, it's time to say goodbye. I promised to visit Foxglove tonight, you can come with me if you like, I think she'd like to see you. She, she needs comfort too, sometimes, its very hard on her, harder than we realized, I'm sorry to say."

Chip didn't answer, blind panic flared up in his eyes. He couldn't let Dale go, not again, even if it was time. But then, she was there and that understanding he admired in her was there, too.

"He was telling the truth, what he said about, about things being all right. You can trust him."

"I know." Chip nodded, his eyes bright. "I always did."

"C'mon." He followed Gadget as she walked away. He didn't look back.


End file.
